


#fucksolas

by peachbomber



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 13:44:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15820062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachbomber/pseuds/peachbomber
Summary: the in-game break up scene is just...so lacking. so i rewrote it (to cope).





	#fucksolas

**Author's Note:**

> nailah lavellan - my inquisitor  
> adelais lavellan - friend's lavellan, twin to mine
> 
> tel'abelas - you're not sorry  
> sathan, asa'ma'lin - please, sister

The Arbor Wilds experience was...a mixed bag.

On one hand, they only went because they had to stop Corypheus from gaining access to the Crossroads via eluvian. It was a massive battle, one that ended with Samson almost taking them all out, Nailah taking a dunk in the Well of Sorrows, and then the party barely escaping Corypheus’s wrath at being denied his goals again. 

On the other hand, they were in the temple of  _ Mythal _ . Being surrounded so completely by her culture and history filled her with an inexplicable calm, even with Corypheus and the Red Templars lurking around every corner. The pages she could fill with what she’d learned at that temple made up for everything, in her opinion.

Still, the relief that had flooded her veins when the eluvian deposited them back into Skyhold, no Corypheus to be seen, was immense. Nailah was the last through the mirror, having seen all of her companions through first. She tumbled out ungracefully, caught before she could collapse by Adelais and Solas, one on either side to keep her steady. The grin on her face was wide, almost bordering manic. Adelais had promptly carted her off to their rooms, certain that her sister was being driven mad by whatever the Well of Sorrows had done to her.

Now it’s a full twenty-eight hours later, and Nailah’s just come out of her meeting with the advisors and Morrigan. The whispers of the Well tugging at her thoughts and prodding her towards her next destination gives her the worst headache she’s ever had. She’d love nothing more than to go back to her room and burrow under the covers for another desperately needed nap, but she’d already been out of commission for the better part of two days. Against the doctor’s orders, she has things to do.

Which starts by going to see Solas. Nailah’s ecstatic to talk to him about the Well, as she is with most things; his views are always fascinating, if a little...rough around the edges. When it comes to all things magical and/or elven, he’s the first brain she wants to pick. She opens the door into the rotunda and peeks her head in to find Solas pacing, agitated, around the room. Curious, she steps fully inside, closing the door behind her, and calls for him.

Solas whirls to face her, surprise dissolving into thinly veiled anger as he storms over to her. “What were you  _ thinking _ ?”

Nailah’s eyebrows go up. “I’m sorry?”

“You gave yourself into the service of an ancient elven god! Everything you do now, whether you know it or not, will be for Mythal.” He exhales in obvious exasperation. “You have given up a part of yourself.”

“Everything I do has always been for Mythal!” she replies, bewildered at his outburst. “I have not suddenly become her slave, nor have I lost any piece of who I am.”

“Not yet,” he says, disdain marking his features, “but if you remove the layer of nostalgia from stories of the elven gods, you might see the danger. They were arrogant and fickle. They warred amongst themselves. They had feuds, vendettas. And you are  _ bound _ to one of them now.” His voice, quiet but not exactly soft, takes a pleading tone by the end. He wants her to understand that it was a bad idea, but she is set in her choice. 

“This was my decision to make, Solas. Not yours. You don’t get to tell me what to do with pieces of  _ my _ heritage.” She digs at him with that one, emphasizing that this belongs to her and not to him, who others himself so adamantly from the Dalish. The anger has drained from his tone, but now it’s bubbling in her chest. They can never have a normal conversation about the Dalish, she’s begun to see. Not without Solas telling her about some part of history they’ve gotten wrong or otherwise sharing unwelcome opinions of them as a whole. 

Solas takes a breath. When he speaks again, his tone is measured and more or less normal. “I suppose it is better you have the power than Morrigan or Corypheus, which leads to the next logical question. What will you do with the power of the Well once Corypheus is dead?”

Nailah unballs her fists, unaware that she had even clenched them in the first place. The heat in her chest flickers. Her tone is clipped. “I’ll use whatever power I have to undo the chaos that Corypheus and his allies have caused.” 

“You would put things back the way they were before?” He sounds astonished, as if he expected her to answer in some other way.

“Yes.” She pauses. “Well, not  _ exactly _ the same.”

“I know what you meant.” Then he smiles at her and even though she doesn’t know why he’s smiling, she falters. His smile is known to make her weak. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome...I think.” She shakes her head. “Why are you thanking me?”

Solas clasps his hands behind his back, cocking his head. “You have not been what I expected, Inquisitor. You have...impressed me. You honor the past and work to recover what was lost, even if the cost is high.” There’s genuine pride in his words. “I respect that, and I am indebted to you for the reminder.”

Nailah can’t do anything but stare at him, astonished by his praise. How can he say something like that while simultaneously rebuking the Dalish? 

Her speechlessness must have given him the wrong idea, because he looks away briefly. “Forgive my melancholy.” She wouldn’t call his unnecessary shouting “melancholy,” but she doesn’t interrupt. “Corypheus has cost us much. The temple of Mythal did not deserve such a fate.”

With a heavy heart, she says, “At least we can agree on that. I would have given anything for more time there.”

Solas catches her eyes again. “The orb he carries, and its stolen power...that, at least, we may still recover. With luck, some of the past may yet survive.”

That extinguishes the fire in her completely, replacing it with a spark of optimism. Her ears even perk up. A lot can be said about Solas, but he undoubtedly knows how to brighten the Inquisitor’s mood by dangling a bit of history in front of her. “That’s true. Imagine what kind of secrets that little thing carries, especially with it being elven! I--”

The jarring sound of the rotunda door being kicked open startles both Nailah and Solas, who move closer together instinctively. 

Adelais, mouth set in a grim line, stands in the doorway with her hands on her hips.

“Uh-oh,” Nailah mutters.

“Lieutenant?” Solas asks hesitantly.

“You,” Adelais says, pointing at Nailah, “are supposed to be resting.”

Nailah lets out a whine and drops her head to rest on Solas’s shoulder. His arm goes around her waist automatically, like muscle memory. “But I feel perfectly fine.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Adelais says. “That healer Jaime brought said you can’t overexert yourself or you could faint again.” She inclines her head towards the door, but otherwise doesn’t move. “Come on.”

“Surely she could rest here?” Solas gestures to the couch, careful not to move and upset Nailah’s position. “She sleeps here often enough and has never complained of resulting soreness before.”

“No,” Adelais says flatly and looks Solas dead in the eyes. After a few seconds, her gaze slides to Nailah’s, expression softening. “ _ Sathan, asa’ma’lin _ . We don’t know exactly how that Well affected you. We need to be cautious.”

With a reluctant sigh, Nailah lifts her head. “Alright.”

Solas presses a swift kiss to the side of her head before releasing her waist. “Go,  _ vhenan _ . Your health is most important.”

Nailah walks backwards toward Adelais. “We’ll talk later?”

“Of course.”

She flutters her fingers at him and turns on her heel, engaging Adelais in hushed conversation as they exit the rotunda.

 

Adelais keeps Nailah under a closer watch, sometimes even camping just outside her sister’s bedroom door to make sure no one goes in or out. After two more days of close examination by the spirit healer Anders, she’s deemed safe to resume her duties as Inquisitor. There’s much to catch up on. Her advisors tell her that they’ve yet to locate the shrine to Mythal that the Well whispers told her about, which is good and bad news. Despite being cleared by the healer, Adelais is still occasionally fretting over her. Marching off to tame a dragon wouldn’t exactly help that.

Nailah instead takes the opportunity and free time to swing by Solas’s room. They’ve spoken very little since Adelais quarantined her, and Nailah’s already forgotten their argument in favor of her excitement to see him again. They never did get a chance to actually talk about the Well outside of him shouting at her for doing what she had to do.

She hauls open the heavy door to the rotunda, announcing her arrival with the creaking of wood. Solas is out of his chair before she even makes it all the way into the room, and she throws her arms around his neck in greeting. 

He laughs a little at her enthusiasm, hands on her hips. “It’s only been two days,  _ vhenan _ .”

Nailah sighs dramatically, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s been such a  _ boring _ two days. Adelais wouldn’t let me see anyone except Anders because he had her so wound up thinking something disastrous was going to happen to me. As if I haven’t faced much worse than a pool of water.” When she looks back down at him, he’s got that half smile she loves.

“Your sister worries a great deal about you. Don’t hold it against her.”

“Oh, I could never. I just have cabin fever.” She lays a quick kiss on his lips. “Come, let’s do something fun!”

“Interesting you should suggest that. I may have something already in mind.”

Her eyes light up. “Do you now?”

“Indeed. It will be quite the trip. Several days, at the least. Are you sure you are prepared for it?”

She waves off his concern. “Yes, of course. Anything to escape Skyhold for a while.”

“Very well. Gather your things and we’ll be off at dawn.”

Nailah has to repeatedly reassure Adelais that things will be fine, and she concedes to a final once-over from Anders to satisfy her sister’s fears. When she’s declared clear, again, Adelais is more willing to let Nailah go off on a multi-day, two person vacation. Nailah disappears to her quarters to pack her things and retire for the night.

Adelais, meanwhile, has a stop to make before she sleeps. The rotunda door is propped open when she arrives at Solas’s room, and she marches right in like she owns the place. Which, she kind of does, technically.

Solas, applying a fresh coat of paint to one of his frescos, doesn’t seem surprised to see her when he glances over his shoulder. “Good evening, Lieutenant.”

“Evening, Solas,” she replies shortly. She leans against the doorframe, watching as he crosses the room to lay his utensils on the desk. “I heard about your trip.”

“Ah.” He wipes his hands on a rag. “I suppose you have questions?”

Adelais crosses her arms, stone-faced. “Where are you taking Nailah?”

Solas rests against his desk, hands folded in front of him. “Crestwood, to a place that is dear to me.”

“Why?”

His gaze remains steady, but something in his expression wavers. “For a vacation, of course. Does she not deserve one, after everything she’s been through?”

His vagueness is infuriating. “Okay, let’s get one thing straight.” She straightens up to her full height, one hand falling to rest naturally on the hilt of her axe. “If anything happens to my sister, if  _ one hair  _ on her head is out of place,  _ you _ will be the one to answer for it. And it will not be pleasant.” Her golden eyes, narrowed dangerously, glint in the weak candlelight. “Are we clear?”

He nods once. “No harm will come to her in my care. You have my word.”

She studies him carefully for several seconds before deciding that he means it. “Good.” And then she’s gone, her piece said.

 

When Solas said “several days,” he certainly wasn’t exaggerating. They’re on the road for almost five entire days, just the two of them. Nailah can’t remember the last time she traveled anywhere without a whole party of people in tow. The freedom is incredibly refreshing; she’s able to spur her Pride of Arlathan hart into a full-on gallop whenever she wants to feel the wind on her cheeks without worrying about anyone else. She knows Solas will catch up. He always does.

They keep an even pace for the most part, if you don’t count their impromptu races and frequent stops for Nailah to draw or write something down in her notebook. On the eve of their third day, as they’re cooking fish from Lake Calenhad over a fire, Nailah’s curiosity as to where exactly they’re going starts to bleed through her patience.

She tears a strip of meat from her fish and chews it thoughtfully. “Are we going to Crestwood?”

On the other side of the campfire, Solas shakes his head. “No.”

“Hmm.” She drums her fingers on her thigh. “The Storm Coast?”

“That would be dreadful, it’s always raining there.” 

“How far out could we possibly be going?” 

Solas doesn’t answer, food in his mouth. 

“What’s on the far side of Ferelden? The Brecilian Forest?”

He swallows and makes a face at the idea. Not only is the Brecilian Forest days and days away, it’s supposedly still full of Sylvans. “Have you perhaps considered that I will not tell you even if you guess correctly?”

Nailah pouts. “I was afraid you would say that. You won’t give me even a tiny hint?”

“That would ruin the surprise.” He takes another bite, as does she, and they fall into a comfortable lull.

That night, her head on his chest and both of them nearly asleep, Nailah asks, “Hey, Solas?”

He hums to show he’s listening.

“We’re not going to  _ Denerim _ , are we?”

That pulls a quiet laugh from him. “Sleep,  _ vhenan _ . We are almost there.”

His laugh makes her smile and she curls in closer, tangling their legs together. It’s not the most comfortable, but it makes her feel that much safer. 

 

It’s mid-afternoon of their fourth day out and they’re passing by Caer Bronach in Crestwood when Solas suggests they start searching for somewhere to camp.

Nailah, immersed in weaving together a flower crown while her hart trots along, absently agrees without looking up.

Solas is grateful that she’s otherwise occupied; they’re nearing their destination, and he estimates that they will arrive shortly before nightfall. He whistles for her hart to follow his.

Hours later, when they’re finally able to make camp at the base of a rocky outcrop, Nailah has crafted four crowns and two bracelets and used them to decorate her hart’s horns. She’s quite proud as she steps back to admire her work. Even the hart makes a pleased sound. She scratches his muzzle affectionately, and then they set to work building camp.

They chat over dinner, somehow still finding new things to talk about, and Nailah remains unaware that they’ve reached the endpoint of their journey. The sun has gone down, the crickets have come out, and Crestwood is unexpectedly peaceful even with the patches of red lyrium jutting out of the earth. 

When everything has been cleaned up for the night, Solas offers his hand to Nailah. “Shall we go for a walk?”

Nailah takes his hand, twining their fingers together. “That would be lovely.”

Solas leads the way as they walk silently through the night, enjoying the brisk night air. With the sureness in his step, Nailah starts to realize that wherever they’re going is where he had planned on taking her the entire time. She suppresses a grin.

They follow a path up and around a hill, to a cave entrance with a statue of Fen’Harel sitting close by. The statue immediately grabs her attention, despite the fact that she’s seen several just like it across Thedas, but Solas makes for the cave. 

Nailah wrinkles her nose. “Are we going in there?”

“Why not? Are you not one for adventure, Inquisitor?” He’s goading her now, playfully, one eyebrow raised as he watches her struggle with her aversion of caves and desire to explore.

Finally, she clicks her tongue and relents. “Alright, you’ve convinced me. Onward!” She points their still-clasped hands towards the cave.

Neither of them necessarily need a torch to see in the darkness--elven eyes have always been more accustomed to the dark than human eyes--but Solas guides her through the cave with an ease that suggests he’s walked this path several times before. Nailah shakes out her hair at least twice because she’s paranoid that spiders might be falling onto her head.

The cave exits into a beautiful cove with two giant, stunning halla statues on either side of the pond in the middle. The moonlight shines overhead, glittering off the surface of the water. Nailah lets go of his hand to walk ahead of him, turning in a slow circle to take everything in. There are elven paintings on the rock walls across the lake, and she makes a note to come back with her notebook. “This place is magnificent!”

Solas comes to a stop beside her, smiling. “The Veil is thin here. Can you feel it on your skin, tingling?” Nailah opens her mouth to answer, but stops when he cups her face in his hand and runs his thumb along her cheek. A blush rises at his touch. “I was trying to determine some way to show you what you mean to me.” He lowers his hand, and her own goes to where his was. Her skin is definitely tingling, from the Veil or otherwise.

“You didn’t have to go through all of this,” she says, gesturing with both hands to their surroundings. “I know what we mean to each other.”

“Even so.” Something in the atmosphere changes, but it’s so minute that she barely registers it. “For now, the best gift I can offer is...the truth.”

Nailah’s head tilts, confusion clear as day.

Solas continues in earnest. “You are unique. In all Thedas, I never expected to find someone who could draw my attention from the Fade.” She’d be lying if she said the look in his eyes didn’t leave her breathless. Subconsciously, she moves closer, transfixed by him. “You have become important to me, more important than I could have imagined.”

This is one of the rare times she’s ever seen him so...exposed. Solas is always honest, sometimes brutally so, but the tenderness in his voice combined with the sincerity on his face forms an adoring smile on her lips. “As you are to me.”

“Then what I must tell you,” he begins, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. “The truth…” There’s no more smile, and Nailah feels something in her stomach twist for reasons she can’t possibly know yet. “Your face.” He locks eyes with her again, and his expression is that of Storyteller Solas. She knows it well. “The vallaslin. In my journeys in the Fade, I have seen things. I have discovered what those marks mean.”

The smile falls from her face as well, replaced by knit brows and a curious head tilt. “They honor the elven gods and goddesses.” 

Solas shakes his head. “They are slave markings, or at least, they were in the time of ancient Arlathan.”

Nailah frowns deeply. “No, that’s not right. Keeper Deshanna says they honor the gods. Our vallaslin are their symbols.”

“In a sense, yes. A noble would mark his slaves to honor the gods he worshipped.” He’s slipped completely back into his usual self, all facts and no sugar-coating. “After Arlathan fell, the Dalish forgot.”

A storm starts to rumble deep in her heart. Nailah takes a step back, barely able to speak. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true.”

“ _ Bullshit _ !” She jabs a finger at him and his eyes widen in surprise. “That’s bullshit!” He’s rendered momentarily speechless as she turns away with an angry exhale, hands tangling in her hair. She half-turns towards him, postured like she’s guarding herself from him. Her tone is biting when she speaks next, and she can feel the magic in her veins crackling at her heightened emotions. “Is there anything in this world you won’t tear down just to prove how smart you are?  _ Why  _ would you tell me this?!”

Solas appears to have found his tongue again, as he replies with just as much energy. “Because you deserve better than this!”

Her fury morphs into disbelief. She steps up to him, forcing him to look at her, and says, “This is my _faith._ I’m Dalish, Solas, for as much as you seem to want to brush it aside! This _hurts_ me but you always have to be right, so what does it matter?” She starts to move away again.

Solas catches her arm and she, for whatever reason, lets him guide her to where she was. “I apologize,  _ vhenan _ , I didn’t tell you this to hurt you.” He hesitates, as if weighing his next words carefully. “If you like, I know a spell…”

Nailah’s gaze snaps to his.

“I can remove the vallaslin.”

She pushes his hand off. “Are you even  _ listening _ ? My vallaslin is part of who I am. I wear it for me and for Mythal. No one else.”

Solas bows his head slightly, looking troubled. “I’m so sorry for causing you pain. It was selfish of me. I look at you, and I see what you truly are. You deserve better than what those cruel marks represent.” 

Nailah’s shoulders slump as she lets out a sigh. The storm in her dies down to nothing but unhappy rain. “Maybe you were only trying to help by telling me this. Regardless, the vallaslin is important to me. I won’t let you take it.” She looks away, holding her elbows. “If that’s going to be a problem, then--”

“Stop.” Solas interrupts her by placing a gentle hand on her upper arm and moving so that he is in front of her again, closer now. His ears are low, but his eyes are intense with a love and affection even she’s mildly surprised to see. “You are perfect exactly as you are.”

Nailah’s not usually one for impulsive decisions, but her arms are wrapped around his neck before she registers what she’s doing. There’s a sense of unease inside her and the only way she knows how to drown it out is by indulging in Solas even when they were arguing moments ago. It’s certainly not the first time she’s done it. He’s taking what feels like an agonizingly long time, so she takes the initiative by pulling him into her. 

When he returns the kiss, she instantly feels lighter because it means he’s not mad at her for wanting to keep her vallaslin, and that’s good. At least, she thinks it is. All she knows is that she can very easily lose herself in him, and that’s what she intends to do. If his wandering hands are any indication, it’s what he intends to do as well.

Much sooner than Nailah would like, Solas breaks apart. Nailah blinks away her dazedness and when she focuses on him, it’s like he’s looking through her instead of at her. A rush of anxiety hits her all at once.

Several seconds of heavy silence pass before Solas, visibly distressed, speaks. “And I am sorry. I should never have-- I--” Pain, unknowingly deep, flashes across his visage before he inhales shakily and manages to collect himself. “I distracted you from your duty. It won’t happen again.”

Nailah’s dumbstruck. Her arms fall to her sides. “Solas…?”

Solas begins to slowly back away. “Please,  _ vhenan _ , don’t _. _ This...This was a mistake.”

A  _ mistake _ . Thunder rolls in the distance, or maybe it’s just the blood roaring in her ears. Nailah’s voice is eerily calm when she says, “Tell me you don’t care.”

Solas looks positively heartbroken, like his soul’s been laid bare and promptly demolished. For some reason, this open display of emotion reminds her of how he was when they first met. “I can’t do that.”

She crosses the space between them in one stride, staring him down. “ _ Tell me _ I was some casual dalliance so I can call you a cold-hearted  _ son of a bitch  _ and move on!” She accentuates her final words by shoving him with as much strength as she can muster, which isn’t much given the panic quickly working its way through her bones. 

Solas doesn’t make any attempts to protect himself from her rage; perhaps he feels as if he deserves it. All he does is watch her with sorrowful eyes. “I’m sorry.” 

Nailah, for once, can’t be bothered to care about how he feels right now, not when tears are burning hot behind her eyes. Her heart constricts painfully. “ _ Tel’abelas! _ ” she spits, spinning towards the exit. She’s going to cry, without a doubt, but she can’t let him see that. 

She leaves him behind, and this time he doesn’t catch up.


End file.
